Page 84 of The Artist and the Dragon

“It’s possible,” he started.

Bronwyn shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I can … I can almost feel it.” Her voice cracked over the admission. “Mr. Davies mentioned something about the Dragon he served, the head of all this. I would bet all the gold in the castle that whoever that is is the one who worked the curse.”

Malik stilled. “What did Davies say?”

“He…” Her brow pinched, and she finally looked up at him. “He taunted me. Said I had no idea. And then he started to say something else, that he was … somewhere. But then you…” She trailed off, throat bobbing.

Then he killed him, and whatever Davies had planned to say was lost.

Bronwyn looked adrift, uncertain. She hugged her arms around herself, and with stray hairs pulled from their pins and spots of blood on her pale gown, she resembled a woman tossed about in a storm and left to wander aimlessly toward home.

“Come to the apartment with me.” Malik held out his hand to her. “I can heal you sooner then,” he added, trying to make the comment a little more innocent than it was.

Healing her was a priority. But it would be a lie to say he didn’t want to soothe the wounds no magic could heal as well. Emotional injuries could be far more painful than afflictions of the body.

He braced for rejection. Some taunting barb.

Instead, Bronwyn placed her hand in his. “Thank you.”

His knees nearly buckled. If not for their injuries, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her right there.

They were almost to the door when he heard a commotion outside. The moment he opened it, he realized why. Wynni stood in the hall, arguing for one of the royal guards to let her in.

“There you are!” She brushed right by both the guard and Malik. “Are you all right? Truly? You ran off, then I got stuck in the back hall, and Goddess above! Your arm!” She turned on Malik with sudden ferocity. “You didn’t tend to her?”

“It’s really nothing,” Bronwyn said. “It’s Malik who needs help. We’re going to see about it right now.”

“You—” Wynni’s brow pinched as she glanced at his injured arm, but she wisely said nothing. She knew about his healing magic, and the failure of it shocked him, too.

“Very well. Yes. Go!” she said quickly. “We’ll manage here.”

Malik nodded to her, but they hadn’t even turned to go before she spoke again.

“And thank you. It—” She clamped her lips shut and seemed to mull over her words. Very rarely was she ever at a loss for words. “Things could have been so much worse, and it’s thanks to you that they are not. I am in your debt.”

“There’s no debt,” replied Malik.

“We’re happy to help,” Bronwyn said at the same time.

The opera had brought him back from the brink and given him joy when nothing else could.Thatwas a debt he could never repay, even if he saved the place a dozen times over.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Wynni said, looking at the guards. “Help them or make yourselves useful here!”

*****

Malik held his breath as he unlocked the door to his apartment in the city. He was nervous. He shouldn’t be. She’d been there before, and the place was tidy enough. But it was hard not to think about the last time they were alone here together, months ago.

She’d offered him her blood to use for the numerous spells they’d needed to trap his father. He’d taken it as gently as he could and then healed her … as much as she would let him, which wasn’t much at all. She insisted on letting it scar no matter how he protested. He’d had a feeling that if he healed her fully, as he’d wanted to, she might slice herself open again just to spite him. So, he’d listened.

He’d wanted to kiss her. Kisses and more. They barely knew each other, really, but he’d never wanted any woman half so much. So, as he’d held her hand, he’d leaned in, prepared to show her the depths of his feelings. But before he could, she’d ripped her hand away and fled into the rarely used guest chamber, slamming the door behind her. He’d waited outside that door for long minutes, hoping, praying that she’d come back out.

She hadn’t. The moment had vanished and not returned before Drystan seized the crown and they began a campaign to hunt down the remaining dragons and secure the throne.

Now … once they’d left the carriage, she’d taken his hand again and had held it all the way up the dimly lit wooden stairs to his door. Rationally, he knew it was because he was still bleeding despite the bandages the guards had wrapped tightly around his arm. His adrenaline had ebbed during the ride, and sleepiness had gripped him despite the jarring bounce as they sped over the cobbled streets.

“Go sit,” Bronwyn commanded as she slipped her hand from his and hurried over to the gas lamp on the wall. That she still remembered exactly where it was stirred something low in his abdomen.

He listened, and went to sit on the sofa.

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